


Bleed Me Dry

by Rollyzen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of italics, Alive Erica Reyes, Alive Vernon Boyd, Dead Allison Argent, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, F/M, First Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Hale-McCall Pack, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Burn, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles-centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, True Alpha Scott McCall, Were-Creatures, Werefox Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollyzen/pseuds/Rollyzen
Summary: Nobody blames Stiles. But try telling him that.The Hale-McCall pack is healing but there's one person who believes he's beyond help. Carrying burdens far heavier than anyone thought, Stiles is drowning. Unforeseen complications do not help.(updates now have no schedule, and tags are added with new chapters)





	1. It was a Sad Start

     There are times when everyone feels helpless. You're at your low and it feels like nobody's beside you. You don't exist. As people, we feel the need to latch on to others to validate ourselves. In a primal sense we are selfish. I've lived my life leaning on other people so much, that when they're gone, I don't feel like I'm alive at all.

So I stopped.

* * *

  
     The school hallways buzz with activity but he filters it out. He goes on auto-pilot to his locker, then homeroom. The longer the day goes on the heavier his shoulders feel with his decision. But at the same time he feels lighter. It's an hour closer. A minute. A second. Until finally, it'll be over. The recurring anxiety. The paranoia. The unstoppable thoughts that nothing feels safe. Nothing feels like it's his. Not even himself.  
The day wares on and so does he. Until tonight.

* * *

  
     He stands on the cliff looking over Beacon Hills. He can't see the good memories anymore. They've all been over shadowed by the emotional trauma that the entire pack has suffered. Lydia's unmoving body on the Lacrosse field. Almost losing Erica and Boyd. The Nogitsune. Allison.  
It's been long enough to where everyone can laugh again but it might never be long enough for Stiles. Nobody blames Stiles, is the thing. He could deal with everyone hating him because he hates himself too. But _this_. _This_ is something he can't deal with. Everyone walking on their tip-toes around him like he'll break...Well, they weren't wrong.

Nobody cares about Stiles. Stiles isn't in the pack. He isn't important. Stiles is nothing compared to everyone else. He only get's in the way and causes problems.

"Stiles is the reason for everyone's problems."

-Breathe in deeply.

"Take away Stiles..."

-Let it out.

"And there's no problem."

     He couldn't help but let the tears fall as he stepped forward. One foot off the edge. An updraft of wind coming up to carry him down. He fell forward, prepared to be dead weight in the sky.  
A striking pain in his right arm jerked him backwards. He fell roughly to the ground. He looked over and saw a blur of black disappear into the treeline. He struggled to his feet and noted the growing red stain on his shirt. As if a bucket of cold water was thrown on him, he jumped.

"What am I doing?" He whisper shouted.

With that, he ran back to his jeep and spent half an hour calming his breathing until he put the key in the ignition.

     His dad was still at work when he got home. His arm ached more as he unwrapped it in the bathroom. The blood had already clotted and become crusty on his arm. It only briefly crossed his mind that a were could have bitten him but he ruled it out and trusted that the pack would have mentioned another threat. Tip-toeing around him or not. He took a quick shower and thoroughly disinfected his arm before jumping into bed around one in the morning. Fitful sleep did not reach him once again and he tossed and turned along with the nightmares.

* * *

  
     The next day at school was a bitter reminder of his weakness the day before. His arm ached dully and Scott gave him a worried look that he immediately waved away. The dark circles under his eyes had been visible for awhile but he started using concealer once he'd had enough of those _looks_ from Scott. Maybe that was mean but he didn't deserve their concern. Isaac tried to corner him at lunch and he barely managed to slip out with a half-assed excuse of meeting with a teacher. Throughout the day he'd managed to develope a headache from all the pack-dodging and note taking from his classes. He was just getting in his jeep when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out with a groan and then saw it was from Derek.

Pack meeting.

     Stiles pulled up the same time Scott and Kira did. Kira smiled in a friendly manner and Stiles tried to return the gesture while Scott knocked shoulders with him, nearly bowling him over. Scott lead the way with Stiles falling to the back and coming inside last. Derek was making food in the kitchen when they came in and if someone had told him that Derek Hale would be making snacks for a pack meeting maybe two months ago, he would have laughed and marveled at the thought of Derek in an apron. But now it's something that Stiles sees as another way Derek is improving in his leadership role. He didn't just step aside from the drama when it happened, he pulled himself and everyone else together. It was good for the pack. It really was.

     The last people to show up were Erica and Boyd. Derek sat the little sandwiches down on the coffee table and started talking about a pack that would be visiting for about a week to wrap up some business. Erica had scarfed down five sandwiches by the time Derek started talking about current were news. Stiles was distracted by the anomaly that _is_ Erica, so he almost missed what Derek said next.

"And there's been a reported rogue shifter. So be on the look-out and don't let it bite you if you come into contact. You'll be fine but it'll hurt like hell." Derek stilled with his eyes on Stiles.

His heart beat had picked up conspicuously during his last statement.

"Stiles?" Derek asked.

Stiles laced his fingers together on his lap,"Um.."

Lydia nudged him from where she sat on his right and he flinched.  
  
     Derek's eyes flashed and was in front of Stiles in an instant. Stiles was shaking minutely but nobody commented on it. The other pack members seemed tenser than before and he couldn't help but feel slightly good about it. Although it vanished when Derek unknowingly squeezed on his wound and made him let out a hiss of pain. The alpha jumped back and regarded him, who was now guarding his arm.

"What happened?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I was up on the cliff and-"

Derek huffed irritably,"What were you doing up there?"  
  
Stiles cleared his throat,"And then something chomped onto my arm and then ran back into the trees."  
  
"Stiles, why were you up there?" Derek asked more insistently, his alpha voice leaking in slightly.

Stiles licked his lips nervously while his eyes threatened to water,"Geez, it doesn't matter okay? I was just look-"  
  
"Stiles! Just answer the question!" Derek crowded him closer.  
He snapped,"FINE!"

Stiles pushed him away from him, which really wouldn't have worked if Derek didn't let him, and felt his pent up anger flare into a furnace of unchecked emotion.

"You want to know why I was up there Derek?! I wanted to throw myself from the edge and be done with it all. I wanted the _nightmares_ to stop. The Nogitsune is _gone_ ," A collective flinch,"-but the nightmares _won't stop_. I want everyone to stop _looking_ at me. I just want to disappear so I can't ever be a _problem_ again." He paused for breath and tried to keep the tears in.

"S-Stiles I-"

" _No_.You wouldn't leave it alone, you can't just back up and say 'oops sorry'. I don't get why nobody in this pack has shredded me to bits and you all pretend like nothing is my fault! Allison _died_ because of-"

"STILES."

Derek's eyes were fully red and his claws were extended.

"See?! We're getting somewhere!"

"Stiles everyone here considers you a member of the pack."

He growled,"What _more_ has to happen until you consider me a threat to your pack, Derek? How can you not see that I'm only a liability?"

"You're delusional."

"What, so now I'm _crazy_?! Stop being a fucking idiot. I'm the _only one_ here who is thinking clearly. Do everyone a favor and end it." He stepped forward and raised Derek's clawed hand to his throat,"What are you waiting for, Derek?! I'm standing right here! Ready for you to rip me apart and throw me away! I've _been_ ready for it! _Burn_ me. _Bury_ me. C'mon Derek, kill me. All I do is get in the way." He waited a beat while Derek stood stiffly,"You can't do it, can you?" Stiles laughed sharply for a second before he cut himself off in a choked sob. The stunning realization that he'd mirrored the Nogitsune's words and actions chilled him to the bone.

Stiles stumbled back,"Oh god."

Derek's claws had long since been retracted and everyone looked either horrified, worried, or sad. Maybe a combination of all three. The tears finally fell but Stiles' face was blank.

"I-I don't.."

Derek looked at him with careful eyes, not trying to be threatening or judging,"The bite is probably reaking more havok on your emotions than you realize."

("I don't _fit_ anymore.")

("Why does everything _hurt_ now?")

"I can't do anything." His voice was barely a whisper.  
  
Everyone was at a loss of words. Lydia stared at him as everyone shifted in their seats uncomfortably. Derek flexed and unflexed his hands anxiously. Stiles could tell he was trying to think over his words before he said anything. It made something deep in his heart ache.

"I'm leaving." He said lightly.

He was at the door when all hell broke loose.


	2. Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not much but <3

Erica and Scott shot up first. They jumped off the couch with raised voices pleading. Stiles froze in surprise. Erica's eyes looked red and irritated with unshed tears. Scott's face had multiple tracks running down his cheeks. Stiles' heart clenched painfully tight.

He looked to Derek and saw him still mulling over his thoughts. Lydia was like a statue but her eyes followed him carefully. Stiles blocked out Erica and Scott's voices as he opened the door. Everyone in the room stiffened as the draft came in. Derek barked out an order a second too late as Stiles was slammed to the ground.

The air rushed out of his lungs with a wheeze. Two heavy paws pinned him down, claws digging into his skin. He looked up into the murky blue eyes of a black jaguar. It's top lip pulled back to reveal large and broken orange tinted teeth, with a growl that was much more frightening when you could actually feel it shake your whole body. He tensed up as it leaned close to his face and..licked? His forehead was now wet with saliva. He turned to try and look away from the animal but its growl made him freeze. Erica's own growl answered back strongly but the tension in the room was thick.

_Do you thrive off of others worry, Pitiful One?_

Stiles slowly turned back,"What?"

The jaguar inclined its head, _Hold your tongue until I say otherwise. I haven't the time for questions. Tell them to stand down or I will rip your throat out._

"What, with your teeth?" He thought for a second, amused. Then, _Yeah, with her teeth._  He sobered quickly and could tell his mind took a turn. Would it be quick? Messy? How much could it really hurt? But..The pack was here. He didn't want them to see it. Derek's loft would also get blood all over it from the presumed "fight" that would occur because of the threat to- what they considered- a "member" of the pack.

Hesitantly, he opened his mouth,"Stop." He could see movement in his peripherals,"Back off or we're gonna have a problem with this kitty's jaws and my throat." His voice wavered unsteadily.

_Very good. I don't like having to threaten people but a must is a must._

Stiles swallowed audibly.

The jaguar's weak eyes shined, _I have come to take responsibility. The time of my death is imminently close, but I know you are a troubled boy. The smell of worry and sadness in this room is pungent. My mind comes and goes at this old age but you have received my bite, no matter the circumstances._

The jungle cat lifted a paw and pressed heavily on his right arm, earning a wince from Stiles and warning growl from Derek.

_Because I am senile and too stubborn for my own good_ , she said with fondness, _you will live. Although it was an accident, I have imparted my gifts to you. Something I haven't done in sixty odd years. Do not be afraid at what becomes of you, child. You have family here._

The old jaguar glanced around the room, _Yes, you have been through much. The lines I see on the faces of ones so young saddens me but I can do nothing. You have been given the merit of my line and its power. I will leave you with a parting gift. One of apology and good will that will aid you. However, I do warn you that if one of my own brood searches for me and finds you, you will need to protect yourself._

She stepped off Stiles and leaned her forehead against his. The feeling of a blanket wrapping around his mind made him dizzy and glad he was already laying down. The presence in his mind disappeared and soon there were hands on him, pulling him up. He felt tired and it was hard to keep his eyes open against the dragging weights of his eyelids. Erica's face was creased in fear as he watched her pat his face to keep him awake. His tongue was heavy in his mouth and wasn't cooperating with the words he tried to say. "Erica" came out as "eureka" and "stop" came out as "slop". It eased the crease between her brows but the tense lines of her shoulders remained.

"What's wrong with his skin?"

That was Lydia. He was almost positive that was her voice. It made him feel like he was doing flips underwater with everyone's voices just above the surface. The spinning of his head continued until he lost consciousness.

* * *

  
Waking up hadn't been so easy for a long time. Not being able to remember sleeping was probably even more than he could ask for. Rolling over had him face first on the floor.

Good Morning.

He groaned and sat up to see Lydia reclined in the sole leather armchair of the loft reading a book. She flicked her eyes over but resumed her reading a moment later. Slightly weirded out, he stood up and did a quick pat-down of himself. His jacket, phone, wallet, keys, and shoes were gone. He was also sporting the sorest back he'd ever encountered. He huffed and shot Lydia a glance, that went unanswered, before going to the kitchen. He locked eyes with none other than Peter Hale at the threshold. He gave a smile that was unironically wolf-like before he shamelessly brought a glass of what couldn't be mistaken for anything but red wine to his lips.

"You know day-drinking is becoming a real problem now-a-days, right?"

He leaned awkwardly from foot to foot while waiting for a response. His feelings towards Peter were..complicated, to say the least. Ever since the Lydia..well _because_ of the Lydia and Peter situation, he'd developed a distaste that he couldn't seem to grow out of. Even if Peter had made his place in the pack, a part of him was always wondering if he was going to do something. It was really more exhausting than it had any right to be. He shot one last look at Lydia, peacefully ignoring everything, before deflating.

"What..happened yesterday?"

Peter's eyebrows raised and he looked far too delighted with himself,"Well, yesterday everyone was recuperating a bit and rotating around the loft, keeping an eye on you. The day before that,everyone apart from myself, Isaac, and Lydia spent most of the day and night scouring the town for traces of the werejaguar. But you probably want the night before, right? When you outed yourself from the suicidal closet and choked out that you were bitten while trying to remove yourself from this plane of existence? Yes, well while everyone was fussing over you the 'rogue were' was able to sneak up to the loft and 'attack' you. She left and you passed out while your skin took on this grayed hue. Lydia assured everyone that you weren't dying and one after another they took off to locate your 'attacker'. I'm not surprised they didn't find her. Werecats are fiercely intelligent..Anyways, you were out for the count for a few days and should probably find a bathroom pretty soon. It's amazing you haven't managed to soil yourself."

Stiles felt red from his head to his toes but stormed off to the bathroom anyways. It was annoying when he was right. Actually, it was annoying no matter what he did.

* * *

  
Lydia stared long and hard over the top of her book. Peter had just said something stupid again, she could tell. Nobody could really tell what was going on in his head but if someone were to come close it would be her. He kept a close guard on any kind of body language that wasn't purposeful and never seemed to fully relax around anyone but Derek. The only thing that seemed to have free emotional range was his mouth. However, she was still slightly surprised to see Stiles storm off looking rather red in the face. Peter must have really let his mouth run too long if Stiles was too torn up to even snark back. As he stalked off she noticed the stiffness of Peter's neck and purse of his lips as he stared at nothing and swished his drink around inside the glass. Watching his composure slip really shouldn't have been as gratifying as it was. She lightly cleared her throat but it might as well have been an alarm going off. The glass in Peter's hand shattered and the drink splashed onto the wooden floor generously.

Lydia continued to stare as he spat profanities in an array of languages (impressive) and disappeared into the kitchen. She set aside her book, that she hadn't read one word of, and closed her eyes.

It was **four a.m.** and her, Isaac, and Peter could finally go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me your thoughts and if I've made any mistakes. Thank yooou <3


	3. Wake Up

Sometimes he would find himself drifting. It was something that was difficult to drag himself out of and then act normal on a regular basis. His head would. . . blank. He hated those moments because right after them it was even harder to focus. He had tried to do things that made him happy at first but it didn't last.

Having dinner with his dad was the thing he enjoyed most. The conversation wasn't much. His dad didn't know where to push to get the laughs out anymore but it was still easy. It was easy like things _used_ to be. Easy like going over to Scott's and playing video games all day. Easy like struggling to keep up with the other Lacrosse players with his best friend right beside him. Easy like crushing on the school's queen bee. Easy like letting all the taunts roll off his shoulders. Easy like keeping an extra inhaler _just in case_. It was easy like only being able to visit _one_ grave.

Crying in the bathroom. Just like the old days.

* * *

  
The loft was noisey when he came out. It creaked and groaned and squeaked alarmingly. Stiles began to wonder if there was a tornado outside or something, when he saw Erica standing at the end of the hall outside a guest room. Her hair was fanned around her face and resembled a lion's mane. She huffed and made her way down the hall.

"You _would_ choose 4:39 in the morning to wake up."

Stiles blanched,"It's that early?!"

She smiled sleepily and looped their arms together. He guiltily let her guide him back to the living room and be greeted by the sight of Lydia passed out in the armchair. Erica sighed in relief and flopped them both on the loveseat.

"Her and Peter haven't been to sleep since you lost consciousness." She leaned against his side with a grumble,"Everyone was so worried about you. Don't do that again, okay, Batman?"

He tossed his head back on the couch cushion and stared at the ceiling. He pretended his eyes weren't puffy and red. He pretended his heart didn't just rip because of how tired Erica sounded. He pretended that his new senses weren't kicking in and that he couldn't smell the salt of tears other than his own right beside him. He pretended that Erica's eyes didn't match his own.

He raised up to answer but found that she was already fast asleep with her arm locked in his. The back of his eyelids had never looked so good.

* * *

  
It was fast. Like a shadow. But even his feverish state of mind knew. It knew that shadows had to come from some _one_ \- some _thing_.

It came from a different place every time. A jab. A stab. Freezing cold and burning hot. Knives and rope. Spikes and chains. The game didn't end until he could get himself out.

Or he woke up.

And he never _could_ seem to get himself out.

* * *

  
He was shaking. No, he was being shaken. The hands on him registered in his mind with a snap and he was scratching and pushing and trying to get away with everything he had. There was yelling and he could feel the vibrations of thunder all around him. He wanted to open his eyes _so bad_ and see that there was nothing to be afraid of. But there always was.

The smell of anxiety and fear made the air pungent and he stilled every muscle he could as he sat in a crouch on the cold floor. The vibrating stopped and he unclenched his hands, startling when they tingled. His eyes flickered open and he saw the blood.

Like someone had pulled the blanket off his head, he felt everything. The smell of the blood was one of many that assaulted him. But not his own. His gaze landed across the room to see Erica clutching her left shoulder, that was leaking through her fingers, while being shadowed by Boyd taking her pain. He wasn't looking at Stiles. Everybody else seemed to not notice Stiles at all, either. He realized he was tucked into the corner farthest away from everybody. The couch and armchair separated them from clear contact. His breathing slowed down with his heart and his hands tingled. He looked and saw black nails retreating to normal and his palm healing from his clenching.

When he'd finally started to calm back down he felt the vibrating again. He turned and saw everybody looking at him. A wave of smells came at him like a physical blow and he reeled back. _Fear_. _Worry_. _Anxiety_. _Sadness_. He cried out and curled in on himself with pain. His head throbbed and there was more stickiness on his hands. His eyes were burning like a branding iron and he couldn't move. The vibrating got louder and then silenced completely.

Stiles looked up and saw Derek walking towards him carefully. His hands were out in front of him and the man had lost any kind of guard he usually had. Stiles gulped as he watched him get closer. A misplaced step made a board creak and Stiles did a full body flinch. _Hard_.

The air was thick as it dragged in and out of his lungs. Derek moved again once Stiles looked back at him. He couldn't bear to look past him and see the faces of his friends; Derek was safe. He lowered himself in front of Stiles and his eyes morphed to red.

Stiles' breath caught at the unexpected relief that flooded his system. He sunk down even further on the floor, but Derek's outstretched hand had him stalling. Before he could overthink it or _think about it at all_ , he pushed Derek's hand away and jumped into his chest. It was too fast and too strong but he felt safe. He was distantly aware that he was crying and shaking like nobody's business but Derek's hands on his back made him forget. They ran up and down systematically untensing his muscles and making a warm feeling blossom in his chest. He held tightly to the shirt pressed against his cheek and breathed in.

It was home.

* * *

  
Stiles didn't know how long he sat with Derek but when he came back to himself he realized he'd been talking the entire time. He only caught himself apologizing and thanking Derek desperately before clamping his mouth shut. The embarrassment was quick to set in and he retracted himself from Derek's arms. They were alone in the loft from what he could hear of it but the creaking sounds it made didn't soothe him like he thought they might've.

"Stiles."

Derek's voice was soft on his ears. He realize they were still very close together but couldn't bother to move. Looking up and seeing his face without any of it's usual grumpiness was a sight for sore eyes indeed.

"Derek." He rasped.

He was just noticing how tight and sore his throat was from all the talking. He'd definitely annoyed Derek by being such a damsel in distress. How weak did he have to get for someone to have to _cradle_ him to make him feel better.

"Stiles, you aren't weak."

Oh. He must've said all that out loud.

Derek continued,"Nobody expects you to be perfect or okay. Stiles, even the rest of us aren't _okay_. Feeling things doesn't make you weak but it hurts. _I_ know it hurts. We thought...We thought you'd come to us but when you didn't, none of us knew how to approach you."

"So it's my fault?" He grounded out, dropping his head back down.

He took a deep breath,"No. None of it's your fault Stiles. You fought with everything you had. We just-."

He looked up and saw the impossible. Derek Hale was crying right in front of him. He was choked up and couldn't talk. The smell of his tears stuck to the roof of his mouth. There was an audible twinge in heart as he grabbed Derek's hand. Whatever anger or resentment he might have had, left of its own accord as he realized he never wanted to see Derek Hale crying ever again. A distressed whine, not unlike a dog's, surprised him by erupting from his throat.

Derek squeezed his hand while Stiles' face colored spectacularly,"We're gonna' be here for you, okay? Even if you don't want us. I know that you can't do this alone. There isn't a single person in our pack that doesn't care about you. Me and Scott aren't just Alphas in title. We'll do whatever we can for the people we care about and you'll always be on that list. For both of us."

Derek's heartbeat was strong when he spoke. Stiles found it relaxing and reassuring. Maybe it was his species transitioning messing with his emotions, but he felt affected by every word his Alpha said. The amount of emotion he'd seen from Derek in just one day compared to since he'd known him was enough to give a lesser man whiplash.

Unfortunately, he _was_ a lesser man so it took him a second to think of something to say. More and more often now his words had been failing him. They'd pile up in his head and get stuck in his throat more than not. But looking at Derek usually had a similar effect.

Another squeeze to his hand made him focus on the man he previously thought allergic to feelings. His eyes were red from the tears but soft as they delved into his own. That was when he could tell that he didn't have to say anything. Derek didn't expect him to give an answer. He didn't expect a smile or a laugh or a sarcastic comment from Stiles.

Derek wasn't going to push him right now. Not when he'd already been so close to the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all comments that are left at any time- unless you're a dick. Don't be a stranger and let me know what you think. <3


	4. Let Go

He was only partly prepared for the vividness of his senses. As much as he felt like he understood the way weres senses were, it did _not_ compare to the real thing. This was not his first rodeo but apparently being a seasoned spectator and riding the bull were completely different. He had helped Scott from the beginning while going in completely blind. That was probably why he was falsely confident in being able to control himself. Strong smells actually _stung_ and the enhanced hearing distracted him to the point of frustration. Like he said, it really didn't compare.

Anyone could say that he'd been _snappy_ lately. Losing consciousness for those few days seemed like a blessing now. He wished he'd thought to cherish the feeling of being well rested the day he woke up. Like karma hadn't gotten him good enough, he was sleeping even less than he was before. Every noise had his attention but it'd been like that before the change. It was worse now because there were even more sounds that caught his attention. Staying at the loft was hell sometimes. It was made better by his dad calling everyday to check in with him because he wasn't allowed to come home. Well, they didn't keep him under lock and key but he already knew that it was ill-advised to be around anybody that couldn't subdue him, if needed. ( _You're welcome, Scott_.) The days following his waking were not easy by any means. He'd apologized to Erica more times than he could remember but she refused to accept them because ' _There's nothing to apologize for, Stiles_.'. She was the one present around him most days after school. Her and Scott would bring him the stuff he'd miss in his classes. Scott didn't stay long but Erica did and she'd insist they work together, which also meant Boyd. It wasn't that he didn't _like_ Boyd. He thought that he was funny and smart and was probably a teddy bear under all the bulk and sulk. That's what Erica's claims told him anyways, and he already felt like he knew too much about their relationship for it to be normal. But the time Boyd had said they weren't really friends kind of got to him. He used to have a habit of assuming that the people he cared about also cared about him in return. However, their study sessions cushioned the hurt he felt, a bit.

After a week of being inside the loft and doing nothing, Derek came to 'talk' to him. He knew what it was about. Everyone knew what it was about. The full moon was coming up and he didn't know what to do. The ache he felt was more alarming than anything. Like he needed to stretch but doing it didn't help and how he couldn't control the flashing of his eyes. They were orange, he learned. It had stunned him but he wasn't quick to commit to anything just yet. He would wait.

Surprisingly, Derek talked about more than just the climaxing lunar cycle. He asked how Stiles felt and if he was doing okay being cooped up like he was. He talked about joining in on training sessions outside or just getting out to watch. It was incredibly..daunting. Lots of mixed emotions twisted together again and again during that conversation. Stiles gave noncommittal answers as he mulled over the thought of going outside. It was getting colder out. The weather had really taken a turn in the past two weeks, he'd noticed. But the colder it was the less activity there would be, which meant more quiet, and he could get away from the creaking of man-made creation for a time. The longer he stayed inside, the more reluctant he was to leave. It'd been only a _single_ day since he'd brought it up and now it was all he could think about. His aching body was worrisome. He tentatively asked Erica how her shift progressed, so he could compare but that turned out to be the wrong thing to do.

The next day, he noticed Peter hanging around the loft suspiciously. He seemed to be ' _R_ _elaxing, Stiles_.' on every other piece of furniture in the loft. For some reason it stressed him out. He also felt incredibly awkward because he noticed everything the man did. He heard the rustle of his clothing and the wiry sound of him occasionally scratching his facial hair. Eventually he had to snap. When he did, though, Peter only sighed and sat across from the loveseat, where Stiles was, in Lydia's armchair. He could have burned a hole through the man with his eyes alone.

He cleared his throat,"Is there a reason you're being extra creepy?"

Peter fleetingly made eyecontact,"A method to my madness? Yes."

Stiles found it hard to relax with that statement.

"You..", Peter's face scrunched in genuine frustration,"..have been having pains?"

The look of utter shock on Stiles' face was unavoidable. As was the following suspicion.

He side-eyed him,"What makes you think that?"

"So, I'm right. Listen, I know a lot more than anybody else around here and what you're going through is different. Not by much but different still. I had a sneaking suspicion that the were that bit you had magic when she couldn't be traced. The manifestation of magic isn't easy and it takes a toll on the catalyst. The pains you have are just your body accommodating the new magic so it can grow. The others won't be able to relate to your shift and vice versa."

"Aches." He said quietly.

"What?" Peter raised an eyebrow quizically.

"They aren't pains, really.", he breathed,"They're just aches. All over."

He inhaled slowly, then resumed talking with a sharp exhale,"You must have had magic before hand. The less drastic the change the less the pain. You should listen to your body, but don't let it control you. It's not hiding any secrets."

With that, he jumped up from the chair and walked out of the room. He threw a ' _And for god's sake get out of the house already_.' over his shoulder before Stiles could no longer pinpoint his location. He felt rattled in an intimate way. Peter was nothing, if not closed off and secretive. Being in the same room as him felt like he was under a microscope. He didn't expect to have anyone's trust, but he'd _never_ had Peter's in the first place. However, the sentiment was requited. It made him frustrated that he, for some reason, now _wanted_ his trust even with his brain entirely against it.  
This game of hot and cold with his own body wasn't something he thought would bother him like it did. He was used to being uncomfortable and itchy in his skin, but now there were times where he felt _safe_ and _cared_ about. It was annoying.

He flinched.

No. No, it wasn't. Stop it. They're here for him to lean on.

Till they get pushed six feet under by the weight of problems that aren't theirs.

**Stop.**

He didn't realize his eyes had been closed before he saw the living room come into focus again. His eyes burned. It happened frequently but they'd never hurt before. Like they were trying to melt through the back of his head. He heard Isaac come out of his room and approach him.

Isaac wasn't around much while Stiles was there but he could smell him all over the house. They'd only exchanged a few words since the change of species happened. (Or started- since it technically wasn't completed until his first full moon.) It wasn't until he'd finally made eye contact with Isaac that he realized how much stress it'd caused him. He really wanted to make a jab at the scarf, but his eyes closed again involuntarily from the burning.

"Your neckwear brings even the most skeptical to tears."

Old habits die hard.

He didn't expect to get a rise out of him but he did get him to move to sit beside him. Although, he didn't blame him or anybody else for not wanting to be around him. Isaac had his moments of being invisible like he used to be but he couldn't hope for that to be the excuse for the last week of silence. It wasn't easy to distance yourself from your friends, but he found it hurt equally, if not worse, to have it done to him. It was hard for him to discern smells well when he wasn't in hyper-drive panic mode but he knew the smell of tears intimately by now. Isaac's puppy dog eyes were a lot more effective when they were filled with tears. And that's saying something.

Everyone knew Isaac was shaken. Suicide was something he held close to himself and to have another person consider it, was jarring. He'd made a mistake but he couldn't own up to it. He'd give everything to be there for Stiles when there was nobody for him.

Neither of them were up for words, but it was a silent agreement.

I'm sorry.

Me, too.


	5. Out of The Frying Pan

It's literally just play time. Big dog, _werewolf_ playtime. When Stiles was invited to see some training, he'd expected just that. Training. However, this dog party that was happening instead, was invigorating. He sat on the porch of the scarred Hale house, observing. The fragrance of endorphins floated lightly through the air, tickling his nose coyly. It was just past noon and they hadn't been outside long. Derek had arranged for everybody to meet at the Hale house Saturday afternoon for "training". It took a lot for him to follow Derek out of the loft. He didn't realize it before he left but it really _was_ a safe zone.

Okay, but this was weird. So, being around Derek had always had it's own charm and he often secretly enjoyed their back and forth. He _liked_ to be engaged and challenged. The problem was when those _nasty_ teenage hormones reared their ugly head. His eyes had started to subconsciously map all his movements and the embarrassing part was that nobody called him out. Not verbally, at least. Erica had rolled her eyes enough for everyone, though. She found out he used to have a thing for Boyd and wouldn't stop teasing him because ' _You totally have a type_ '. She was more sympathetic to his Derek situation, though, and understanding of the sensitivity. Not that he'd ever admit it. Yeah, you'd have to rip out his fingernails before he'd willingly give up his feelings.

What was even _more_ frustrating was Derek being _nice._ Derek had always been luke-warm to him at best, but since Stiles' body accepted the bite, he did a turn of about ninety degrees. He was practically being doted on. That could really mess with a guy's heart. But seeing things that weren't there was kind of his thing.

" _Hello_?"

Stiles jumped,"What? Yeah. Yeah?"

Derek cocked an eyebrow and pushed the bottle of water he was holding out, into his hand. He'd probably called his name more than a few times. Stiles' face heated up conspicuously as soon as Derek turned around. He mostly watched the others along with Stiles or would play ref when things got too heated, like when Isaac body slammed Erica in their mock-game of lacrosse. He watched in awe of Kira's scarey good impression of Coach Finstock. He wasn't the only one impressed, he found out, when he saw Scott completely ignoring the game and then getting tackled, out of the corner of his eye.

It was nice. It was _all_ nice. Watching his friends smile and laugh and have fun used to be something so rare that he wished he'd brought his phone so he could take pictures of it. But he'd remember this. He wouldn't let himself forget this moment where everything was okay. Everyone chose that moment to pounce on Derek. He got a running start but they'd had the element of surprise and was run down by Isaac first. Erica was hot on his heals flanked by Boyd and Scott on either side. Derek was effectively buried under a pile of wolves as Scott gave a victory roar and everyone disbanded. Stiles was laughing hard enough for his sides to hurt.

He paused. Yeah, wait, his right side actually hurt. His head snapped around and he raised his arms up as he felt something move in his skin. A tuft of bright fuzz.

"Guys!"

He yanked out the dart and started running. They'd spread back out for another game but came to attention immediately. There was something rushing through his blood now, he could feel it. He slowed down but managed to get to Scott, who was closest.

"There's somebody out there. I gos shot wis a traqurizerrr"

His lips numbed and his eyelids drooped but his head stayed clear as he took in the scene.

Nobody was still standing. Even Scott, who had been fine a second ago, pitched forward into Stiles. The added weight of Scott took him down and he struggled to push him off. He grew weaker and the blue of the sky started to grey around the edges. His enhanced hearing picked up the crunching of boots on dead leaves coming closer. His head lolled to the side and took in a figure clothed from head to toe.

All of a sudden, Stiles was mad. He was absolutely livid. Like there was lava under his skin, he tossed Scott a good two feet into the air and was running towards the man. He rammed into the figure at full speed and slashed at everything he could reach. Two sharp pinpricks registered in his mind. One above his left hip and the other in his right shoulder. The clothes this intruder was wearing were thick and layered but he'd slashed through them eventually. His arms felt like lead the more he raised them. Using the rest of his strength, he brought his sharp black nails across it's chest. A feminine scream buzzed dully in the back of his head. An eerily satisfying tremor ran through his body as he felt warm blood drip down his hand.

* * *

  
It was humid. That was his first thought.

There was a slight sheen of sweat on his upper lip that was just annoying enough for him to want to wipe off. Except that he couldn't. His forearms were strapped tightly to the chair he was in. Along with every other movable body part. _Arms, legs, wrists, neck, ankles, chest_. He was only able to slightly move his hips. Very useful. Not. There were lights in every corner and one right above him. He ached horribly and wondered how long it was until the full moon. He'd tried countless times to feel out this 'magic' that Peter'd said he had but he didn't feel anything. The only thing that he could feel was the itch under his skin. His face burned with shame. He'd been captured. It didn't take long before his thoughts turned aggressive. The room was rather large and the way his growls bounced back at him was unnerving. There were no windows and only one door, directly in front of him. The room was plain with only white walls and a cement ceiling. A basement, probably. The door made no sound as it opened and shut to let in a single person. A woman. A bombshell, actually. Too bad he didn't care. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, with a thin amount of liner around them. Her unnaturally red hair was braided back tightly and gave her a fierce air. The new-comer's face was blank but irritation was palpable in the air.

" _I_ am Rosa."

Her voice was deeper and quieter than he'd expected. He watched as her eyes mapped him, checking the bindings no doubt. A grin settled on her face when she finished.

"The man you mauled is my brother." She stared resolutely into his eyes,"So, I'm not going to spare any pleasantries with you. _Where is Peter Hale_?"

His eyes widened, caught by surprise. Then he burst out laughing. The gut clenching, tears in your eyes, 'I need to use the restroom' laughing. Rosa did not falter but she drew herself up in offence.

"Should I wait until you recover or just assume that most of your sanity left with the Nogitsune?"

His laughter turned into a dark chuckle,"All you can do is assume, you _stupid bitch_. You can throw around words all you want but you'll never understand the full extent of that one. Don't think you can interrogate me. I'm out of your league." He spat.

Rosa gave him an unimpressed look and left the room the same as she came, calmly.  
  
There was anger rising and lowering in his stomach and he hated it. He hadn't had a flare up in a while and to let a _stranger_ get to him was pathetic. He tugged at his bindings uselessly. He hadn't practiced much with his strength but he knew if these bindings were ordinary they'd already have been snapped. There had to be runes somewhere near him for it to be able to make him as powerless as a human. That he'd been before. For a long time. And in plenty of more taxing situations than the present. _Stiles, you idiot_.

Just as he came to his revelation, the door opened again to the same woman. Rosa wheeled a cart in front of her, filled with weapons, some looking nicer than others.

He refused to look at her as she cleared her throat,"You have one more chance to tell me what I want to know or I'll be forced to introduce you to some of my _very_ close friends."

"Funny." Stiles snickered,"You don't look like a girl who's only friends are objects used for stimulation."

Rosa frowned like she was mildly inconvenienced,"Where is Peter Hale?"

"Hm? Oh! Peter! Why didn't you say so? Let's see..Last I heard, he was on a cruise in the Bahamas. His old bones and what-not acting up. Get me?"

Her head bobbed twice before she turned her back to him and faced the table,"I do, Mister Stilinski."

She spun on her heel to face him. There was no light to her eyes anymore and in her hand was one of the more cared for tools, a wickedly sharp knife.

"I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture warning for next chapter.


	6. Been There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case someone didn't see the note on the last chapter, there is a bit of torture coming up. This chapter only.

An uncontrollable shiver winded up his spine. He could put on airs like nobody's business but he wasn't _immune_ to pain. Or the fear it caused. He realized quickly that he had very minimal chance of escape. This woman, Rosa, was patient and cruel. She wouldn't be affected by anything he said or did to try and rock her. So, he watched with bated breath as she walked with slow effortless steps to meet him in the middle of the room.

She admired the high-back chair in circling and trailed the knife across his chest as she rounded his side, "I am going to make you scream for your dead mommy." She ripped off his shirt like tissue paper. "And when I'm done, you'll be wishing the nogitsune was still in you- _as a comfort_."

_What did I just tell you?_

She dragged the knife across his neck hard enough to make a thin line of blood slowly drip down into the hollows of his clavicle. His breathing came harsh and fast as he felt his skin knit back together.

Her pale lips pulled back in the imitation of a smile, "Don't worry. I'll bleed you enough so even your healing will give up."

Stiles closed his eyes in defeat.

Ice dragged up and down his arm teasingly. Dipping in and out of his skin like a wave. Sinking just below the surface and ripping out in another direction. Carving around and around like a whirlpool. The roar was deafening.

He was painfully awake for all of it. The touch of skin made him flinch as he opened his eyes. She crouched by his hand with a banged up pair of metal clippers. Rosa locked eyes with him as part of it was pressed under his fingernail. He jerked and yelled and pulled against the metal cuffs uselessly. She pressed down slowly and watched Stiles scream as his fingernail was ripped from its bed. He felt the skin tear millimeter by millimeter away from the nail and then stop. Only to heal back to the nail. Rosa delighted in starting over.

And over and over.

Stiles' voice was horse and the taste of iron was heavy on his tongue. She returned with a short, rusted blade covered in a purple residue. There was something on the tip of his tongue, yearning to come out, but disappeared with the quick strike of the dagger between his ribs. In and out. The dullness burned as it dragged across his open flesh. His shot vocal cords produced nothing but a wheeze that grated on his own ears. The ratio of pressure to weapon was unbalanced and would bruise him before he bled. She'd drag it across his chest hard enough to irritate and rip skin but still not draw any blood. The passing of time was relevant.

Fear only came when the healing stopped. It took all his energy to mend his body and soothe his own mind, so when he could no longer do one of those, it jarred him from submission. Thoughts of his pack traversed his every waking moment alone in the barren room. If they were going through the same. If they could take it. If they'd already given up. _If If If If If_. That was the thinking that drew him to Peter. _What could he have that they wanted so bad?_ Stupid question. He could have anything. Peter was a wild card- or crazy, depending how you looked at it. He only wished Peter had told him more about whatever 'magic' he had growing inside him. It would've been a hell of a help to get out of this mess.

* * *

  
Rosa wasn't having fun anymore, apparently. She'd exhausted every option she had. After doing the same things over again, switching them up or not, and still getting no answers from Stiles, she was bored. He wasn't sure what day it was or how long he'd been inside the room but he noticed before the door even opened that it wasn't Rosa. In the entrance stood a hooded man that smelled of outside. Unlike Rosa, who probably covered her scent with some enchanted accessory, he put on no airs as he approached Stiles' chair. It was easy to tell that his captives had no magic of their own. They lacked finesse.

His senses were muted because of the runes carved into his chair but because of his isolation, the smell of his pack flooded him like adrenaline. Wait, no. That was actual adrenaline. He met eyes with the hooded figure and was relieved. He didn't know the man, of course, but his light brown eyes made him think of long dirt roads, off the beaten path and brought back that ray of hope he'd let go out so much earlier. Probably around the third time he'd had his nails ripped off. _I'm here to help_ , they said. He stayed very still as the man quickly approached him.

"Alright, shut up. I'm an old _old_ friend of Peter's. He called in a favor and here I am to bust your ass out. Questions, Comments, Concerns?" Steady heartbeat.

He whipped out a pocket knife from seemingly nowhere, as he hadn't seen his hands move at all.

"You got a plan?" He wheezed. His vocal cords were freshly raw and grated against each other in his throat as he spoke.

He noted his lips were still split and crusty with dried blood. Peter's friend squatted behind his chair and started scratching through the runes. It came back slowly as the rune was weakened, like a balloon swelling in his chest, pushing him. Clarity trickled over him like cool water. He felt positively feverish and itchy with the need to move. The scratching stopped.

"For me? Yeah. For you?..It's a work in progress. I was told this was time sensitive, and I can see why." He paused and looked around the room, searching. Nodding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring,"Bust out of those restraints already, Shrimp."

It took him a second, pushing himself past that mental block of being _caged_ , before he took deep breaths and wrenched an arm through the metal. He glared at the new gashes on his arms. He peeked at the chair and rolled his eyes at the firmly screwed in, but broken, cuffs. The three bands that were on his arm had left dark rashes that weren't healing, along with the rest of his injuries, and did nothing to compliment the blood running down his arm. He scrutinized his hand and the halfway grown nails before reaching over and ripping off the cuffs on his other arm, screw-side first. He hissed in pain as what little nails he had dug into his skin. Before he could hesitate he used his other hand to break the metal around his neck. His legs didn't take much damage from breaking their bonds thanks to his jeans.

"Alright, now feel out your body before you get up so you don't go into shock or anything."

Stiles did as he was told before looking at the stranger expectantly.

"This ring I've got is gonna' make you immune to any detective magic or ability and essentially invisible in every meaning of the word. If the ring gets busted, as do you, kid. So be careful, huh? Those don't come cheap and you probably won't come by another one in your entire mortal life."

He ran his thumb over the plain band,"What about you? Will you be okay?"

The man smirked,"More than you'd believe."

Stiles highly doubted that but tried to focus on the more important matter at hand. His escape. The wounds on his arms bled sluggishly and presented no problem as he tried to soothe his cramped joints. They creaked and popped uncomfortably and it was painful to do anything, but he was thankful for it. He glared at the chair with enough fire to turn it to ashes, but it stubbornly did not react. The ring rolled over in his hand and he noticed an engraving on the inside of the band. A pole with wings at the top and two snakes intertwining it. He could've sworn he'd seen it before. Stiles turned to the stranger but found his spot vacated and the room empty apart from himself. His question slipped back down his throat while he hastily slid on his ring.

He paused," _Dude_ , I'm totally _Frodo_. You can call me _Bearer of the One Ring_."

He continued to geek out for a minute before his echoing voice brought him back to the present. The ring was fully equipped but he felt no different. Wondering if he'd been duped, he turned every which way to find the man but he was gone. It didn't matter anyways, he told himself. He was out and needed to leave. _Like, yesterday_.

The door swung open silently and he stepped out into a dark corridor that he could not see the end of on either side.

"On the left is a pest. To the right is your delight." He mumbled.

He started at a brisk walk, keeping his ears focused for any sound that wasn't the rushing of his blood. There was a light spilling out of an open door twenty feet away and he kept his pace swift as he approached. He saw four people at a poker table, two people talking over a portable bar, and last but not least, Rosa. Sitting off to the side of everyone, she was sharpening a long knife. The first one she'd started on him with if he wasn't mistaken. This area just looked like a big, cheap warehouse compared to the place he'd come from, and he could see holes in the walls of the structure from age and climate ware. There was only one way out and it was directly past all the intimidating, biker-esque baddies. It was just an open space with no door to be seen. Not trusting the ring at all, he ran as fast as he could through the middle of the warehouse. It was incredibly stupid but he was pressed for time. There was no telling when Rosa would go check his room. His legs burned and almost gave out but he made it without incident. He turned around at the door and became slack jawed at seeing not even a single person paying attention to him. This was too easy. He turned back and finally stepped outside. He never thought the smell of car fumes would make him want to _melt_.

A calloused hand slapped onto the back of his neck and settled into a grip.

_Yeah, too easy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please point out any mistakes and feel free to give me some feedback. Second week of school is kicking my ass and any reprieve is appreciated. (Next chapter will be late)


	7. Honey, I'm Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Really sorry about the wait, but I've had school projects to work on :( (two down and one to go)  
> This chap is longer than i usually write- exceeding my 1500 word min.- and is my way of apologizing. <3  
> I'm also switching my upload schedule to every other Friday to make it easier on my school life. Hope that's understandable.

"Come on, Shrimp. Your family's waiting."

His body locked up and a cold gust swept up and down him in rapid succession. A harsh puff of breath blew from his mouth and he clenched his teeth to keep from reacting.

"Kid?"

His skin prickled and he tried to shake off the feeling. He looked encouragingly to his savior and was met with an impatient scowl. Stiles' morale dimmed even further and he eagerly followed the cloaked man... _cloaked_? Holy shit. The guy was actually wearing a black cape. His nose scrunched in distaste. Not necessarily out of contempt for the choice of fashion but more of a _you're on a rescue mission why would you wear that_ \- kind of contempt. The sounds his battered body made in protest of moving thundered in his skull. Every creak and pop from his joints made him increasingly anxious that he would give out before he made it to wherever he was being lead. Of course he tried to talk to the other guy, but he'd just be shushed and they'd continue to walk in silence. Turns out they were in a lot filled with old, rundown cars. Stiles watched apprehensively as they strolled through the front gate without caution. This was usually when a bigger baddie would swoop in and try to kill them, but the longer they walked, the more mellow his mind became. Nothing happened.

"Close your eyes and plug your ears." He commanded.

Stiles began to question but was cut off harshly,"Now!"

He peevishly did as he was told- _even though it hurt his fingers_. He was a saint like that. He closed his eyes and felt like he was free falling. His stomach turned over and over and he knew he was going to throw up. He felt zero sensation on the outside of his body, almost like he was numb. The blood rushing through his ears was the only sound he could hear. His entire body gave one large pulse before his free fall felt more like he'd been shoved off the top of a bunkbed. He landed heavily on his shoulder with a loud thud. A literal hiss sprang from his mouth at suddenly being able to feel after such an intense deprivation of sense. Everything burned.

"Stiles!"

He opened his eyes and found Lydia leaning over him with the likeness of a concerned puppy. The scents of home and the ones he loved, burned in his lungs. _That's what it is._ His eyes leaked and he allowed it whole-heartedly. There wasn't a single person missing from the house. He could feel everyone's presence; their heartbeats eased his apprehension and furthered his sobs. They wracked his body hard enough that he seemed to convulse. His hand clenched tightly on Lydia's forearm and if he'd been any stronger, would've broken it. She was talking to him but he couldn't get his ears to focus on her. He was tuned into a single heartbeat that had begun to ratchet up as he bawled. It was a fast, steady pace that drew all his attention and pulled him forward. He wobbled dangerously trying to stand and had no choice but to accept Lydia's steady hand. _Somewhat_ steady, at least.

His stomach lurched with nausea, but all he could manage were dry heaves. Nobody had fed him when he was being tortured so there was nothing to bring back up, sadly. He tried to communicate with Lydia to tell her where he wanted to go but all the inputs he'd suddenly been loaded with were interfering with his motor skills, and he couldn't form anything coherent enough for her to understand. Stiles stumbled along as she gently lead him through the loft. He could smell her perfume vividly as it wafted up and around them. Yup, Armani. She was definitely stressed if she'd broken out that one. He wanted to know how long he'd been gone but Lydia's face was already set with something in mind, so he kept it to himself. They stopped in front of Derek's bedroom door. While Stiles took a second to process, she gave two decisive knocks before the door opened to an anxious Derek. The smell of it hit him like a physical blow and he recoiled. Lydia's hand was gentle but strong on his back as she pushed him forward.

He petulantly refused, but he was so weak that even a strong breeze could make him topple over. Warm, calloused hands grasped his forearms and pulled him forward. He pulled weakly as he was enveloped by the stressful space. Little tremors of a growl slid up his throat and his lateral incisors and canines slid out in a threatening display.

"Stiles, please."

Derek's whisper floated in the air for a few seconds before going through his head. His brain throbbed and he folded into Derek's arms. He rubbed his wet face on the soft t-shirt and whaled until his already horse throat couldn't make anymore sound. The pressure of sure, firm hands gliding up and down his back, once again, soothed him to clarity. He looked up to his Alpha's face and was struck by how worn he was. Stiles reached up and traced the frown lines on his face. Derek watched but didn't say anything about his half-grown bloody fingernails as he moved up further and they glided across his dark under-eyes. Almost in a daze, he dropped his hand to cup Derek's jaw and locked eyes with him. They were wide in surprise as Stiles leaned in and imperviously linked their lips.

Derek seemed to be frozen in time as he melded them together. Too tired to function, he only felt a smidgen of embarrassment at the lack of response as he pulled away. He shook as he collapsed back into Derek's arms. It seemed to be a trend.

* * *

 The air rushed back into his lungs as Stiles went limp in his arms. Feelings on top of feelings stacked up on him as he went through the events of the last week.

He woke up in the field to see everyone passed out and Scott vaguely twitching into awareness. When he realized he couldn't sense Stiles, he had to fight off the urge to look for him right away. Instead he'd shaken all the pups awake and urged them to the loft, leaving no room for questions. He scoured the area for a scent trail and left angrily after finding nothing. It was hard to face his pack when he had no answers for them. Scott tried to stay calm and focus but his resolve cracked that much more with nothing to go off of or direct his feelings at. Lydia and Boyd were much better at it. Erica acted angry- and actually was- but the frustrated tears that lined her eyes were obvious. Isaac wasn't there.

The pack was visibly disappointed with the 'news' he delivered. After they'd left to comfort each other, Peter approached him with a counceling hand on his shoulder.

"Nephew."

"Peter." He said weakly.

"I'm going to fix this."

Derek jerked his head around to stare at his uncle,"Why would _you_ need to fix it?" He asked suspiciously.

Peter sighed,"I recognised the symbol on the dart as belonging to a group of radical informants I used to be acquainted with. They sell what they know to the highest bidder and without any care about what's done with it. They were on my tail a long time ago. It's possible they were after information concerning the Nogitsune and caught word of where I was."

"It's.." he reached,"possible."

Peter nodded before turning on his heel to leave,"Don't worry, _Der_. I'll save your mate."

Derek blushed from the tips of his toes to his hairline and hoped nobody was eaves dropping in secret. He missed the enraged look forming on Isaac's face as he stood in the doorway and the smug one on Peter's as he exited the loft.

" _Are you fucking kidding me, Derek Hale?_ " He seethed, face red.

Said kidder turned around in surprise,"Um?"

Isaac jumped on him with anger that he rarely showed. His beta shift verging more and more on an actual shift as he got angrier. The alpha threw him off and watched, begrudgingly impressed, as he landed with perfect poise.

Isaac growled and pounced again.

Derek evaded but caught a swipe of the other's claws against his arm.

" _Fuck._ What _is it_ , Isaac?"

His body _shook_ from the ferocity of his growling and he flexed his clawed hands threateningly.

" _You_. After watching Stiles go through everything he has, you couldn't go to him and _tell him you were mates_? When he needed stability and someplace he felt safe? Stiles was at the lowest point in his life _ever_ and- You're telling me that even after he got bit and inevitably got _even more_ attached to you, that you couldn't do him the courtesy of explaining why he felt that way?" He snarled.

An ugly feeling welled in his limbs, making them heavier and more awkward. He listened as the others shuffled into the living room quietly, but Isaac's heart stayed pumping at an adrenaline filled rate.

He was ashamed that the rest of the pack found out like this,"I know. Okay? I get that it wasn't the best plan but I'm not going to force him into being my mate."

Isaac huffed through his nose as his beta shift receded,"Are you serious? That might have- _might have_ applied when he was human and, well, _not involved in taking down supernatural bad guys_ , but what's your excuse now that he's turned? He could be out there hurting and he doesn't even know his _mate_ is-"

Boyd slapped a hand over his mouth and carted him out of the room while he hissed angrily. The air was thick with unsaid words and disapproval all around. Erica's boots squeaked as she followed her boyfriend out.

"Dude." Scott breathed,"Anything else you feel like sharing?"

The loft was cleared out for the rest of the day as the information flowered out to everyone. It grew more sour in his mouth as Stiles' absence stretched on. The day after Stiles was kidnapped, he got formally chewed out by every immediate member of the pack, except for Peter. _He_ was passive aggressive as usual. After a few surprisingly stern words from Boyd, he decided on a plan for _when_ they got Stiles back.

He wouldn't waste anymore time or keep his potential mate in the dark like the selfish person he had no right to continue being. He'd tell Stiles that they were compatible as mates and he had feelings for him. Derek would finally take action on the issue that he'd put off ever since they'd met. The more days that passed the more testy the pack became. Peter was asked by nearly everyone how he was going to save Stiles but the only thing he'd say was 'all that's left is to wait'. It was entirely too cryptic for such a serious situation but they didn't have anything else to hang onto but Peter's words.

So when Stiles' scent popped into the living room with no warning, and the pack all asleep in other rooms, it was safe to say he was ecstatic. He bolted out of bed but was stopped by Lydia's authoritative voice. Derek listened intently as she spoke to Stiles softly but couldn't coax anything from him as he groaned and spilled gibberish, possibly other languages. He wasn't versed in any of that but it pained him to listen to Stiles whine all the way down the hallway. He almost tore the door off its hinges trying to open it at Lydia's knock.

He speechless as he sets his eyes on him. Stiles starts to retreat but is easily pushed into his room by the red headed banshee. She leaves and closes the door and Derek is at a loss for what to do. A course of action is made _for_ him when Stiles starts growling at him and flashes his eyes. Words fly out of his mouth without him even noticing and he's put his hands out in a placating gesture. He isn't sure what triggered the fledgling but a mate should have the ability to calm their partner indefinitely. It's all he can do to rub his back when he sinks into his outstretched arms.

Derek's senses are overwhelmed with the amount of residual pain that's clinging to Stiles. Clinging to his dirty clothes and blood stained skin. He loosens his hold to allow him to move back and feels his chest cramp up as he looks over Stiles' face. There's faint red trails around his mouth and on his chin that make him want to swaddle the other in blankets and adoration. A hand on his face stops him from bringing his idea to fruition. They're split and half grown but the crusted blood makes his own boil on the most primal level of anger. Stiles doesn't seem to notice as he traces over the lines in his face with careful consideration. If anybody asked, he'd never admit it, but he swears his heart stopped when Stiles dropped his hand to cup his jaw. He would then deny that his soul _flat out_ ascended when he leaned in and kissed him. It didn't even register when he pulled back and snuggled into his chest.

  
Whatever kind of smooth plan he'd had to confess to Stiles, it was blown away along with his tolerance for Peter's cryptic words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't want this to get boring but it kind of feels like it's going that way, so I would appreciate any suggestions or ideas of what you'd like to see. I finally got in a decent amount of Sterek so /yay/ for that, at least. Feedback of any kind is great for me to build off of, so please grill me on any and everything wrong (i.e. sentence structure, vocabulary, repetition, grammar, etc.), or tell me what you liked so I can keep at it. <3 Thanks for reading, my Honies.
> 
> My email's always open for anyone too shy to comment: rollyzentumblr@gmail.com


	8. Who The Fu-

It's really comfortable. He's actually kind of pissed that Derek has been holding out on bragging rights because _damn, son. That shit's comfy._ Nice bed, Alpha Hale.

"Gods, I can hear your primitive thoughts from here and I am _not_ impressed."

Stiles sleepily opens his eyes because he's pretty sure that he just imagined that but..

"Nope. Here I am."

He turns over and hisses quietly at the drag of sheets on his bare skin, no matter how expensive they are. There's no light inside the room or outside but there's a cloaked figure looking out the window behind the curtains. The air seems to have a slight glimmer around him even though the room is completely dark. 

"You don't have to stare." His gloved hand drops the curtain, and he swiftly crosses the room to right beside him on the bed."'Stiles' Stilinski, you are certainly everyone's favorite fellow. I do hope you want to stay acquainted after this fiasco." He winked.

In his stride over, the hood of the cloak fell back to reveal sandy blonde, curled hair that hung just above the cloak. It was distracting because the man's voice did not match his body. It was raspy and sounded _ancient_ but seemed to linger in the air. He was definitely older than Derek but not quite to Peter's age and it felt.. _weird_ to be in this close space with him.

"That would be my godly aura."

Stiles gave him a look that said _stranger-danger-I-don't-know-you-stop-it_ , but it was ignored. His fine-tuned ears picked up the front door opening and closing quickly.

The stranger frowned,"Well I wanted to stay longer so you would be more comfortable when I told you but.." He let out a put-upon sigh and turned to look at him directly."I really hate when people hold onto things they're meant to pass along, so I'll take it upon myself to fill you in. _You_ , you feisty little creature, are mates with this 'Alpha Hale' character that you think about in your sleep too much. I've come to understand that were-creatures are weird about that sort of thing and it seemed terribly unfair for you to be kept out of the loop.. I'll keep in touch, my poppet." With that said, he pecked him on the temple and disappeared with a snap. 

Stiles feels like he'd just woken up again as Scott and Derek open the door in a rush and frantically search all around the room, both of their eyes glowing red. Olive toned hands are being waved in front of his face and Scott's trying to talk to him but he can't focus on him. He's still trying to catch up. Mates? Him and Derek? How did _that guy_ know? And _wait the fuck- hold up a minute_ how did Derek know? _When_ did Derek know? This shit was not good for his blood pressure. It would explain the feeling of calmness he got, but _why couldn't that have just been an alpha thing? Why, God?_ Derek didn't deserve a mess like him. What the hell. 

"Stiles, C'mon, who was here?!" Scott stressed.

Stiles turned to him with new awareness but practically looked through him to see Derek standing there with his fists clenched. His heart tugged and he felt utterly betrayed at himself and at Derek for keeping this from him.

"Get out."

His voice was quiet but hard in anger. They both had awe struck faces and Scott gaped.

"Wha-"

"I said," He repeated harshly, never taking his eyes off Derek,"Get. Out...And bring me Peter."

"I- wha- bu- Y-you _hate_ Peter!"

"I'm not going to repeat myself again, Scott."

He blinked a few times before shuffling out of the room. Derek took a step forward but was stonewalled by the sheer force of Stiles' glare. There's an awkward moment of eye contact before he follows Scott's lead. He watches the door close with a heavy heart and settles back into bed. Yeah, he is kind of a jerk, but _fuck_ he's hurting okay? He's stuck staring at the ceiling until there's a knock on his door. Peter comes in without being prompted and actually looked _uncomfortable_ for the first time ever in Stiles' presence. His shoulders are tense and there's some obvious stiffness going on here. Stiles takes mercy on Peter and drops his cold attitude as he sits up. Peter takes an uncertain position by the window.

Stiles starts easy,"Who was he?"

Peter's brow lowers in displeasure,"Hermes. Messenger god."

It's amazing how good he's gotten at not letting things surprise him but _seriously? A fucking God?_ Only in Beacon Hills. He sighs and feels sadness seep in now that there isn't anything to distract him. Peter's beside him before he knows it, and he never thought he would be within five feet of him without ill intentions. And now he wants comfort.

Funny that.

"Did..you know?"

He picks at the nice comforter while he waits for Peter to say something- anything. He doesn't want to but he can smell everything that Peter's feeling and it's _bad_. Bad because he doesn't _want_ to know that Peter's an actual person with real feelings. He's the creepy uncle that makes everyone uncomfortable and likes messing with them. Stiles is such a jerk.

"I did."

His breath stutters in his throat and he wants him to take it back. He doesn't want to smell the anger coming off him or the sadness that he's pretended not to notice. _Please, say something else. Give me something I can use to forgive you._

"I tried to get him to tell you. It wasn't my place to share it with you, and I wish I could say it wasn't H's either but.." He trailed off.

Stiles really wished he would stop crying over everything, but nothing seemed to want to go his way. A tentative hand was placed on his shoulder and the tears silently spilled over. He shook his head at himself.

"I don't know what to do." Stiles said slowly and drawn out.

Peter jumped at the chance to help,"Be angry. Be sad. Be happy. Excited. Tired. Feel it. But mostly be angry, yeah. My nephew deserves a real fight. Probably a literal one. But take your time to process this. He still doesn't know that you know."

Stiles smiled faintly at how eager he sounded. It was surreal to hear anything other than sass come from Peter, and it made this moment seem very fragile in his mind.

"How did you get mixed up with a God, Peter?" He tried to change the mood.

He smiled wryly,"I had my fair share of fun back in the day, too."

_Figures_ he wouldn't share that story.

"But what-"

"Stiles, you should go back to sleep."

He would've argued if he wasn't trying to fight back a yawn. Peter tried to quickly leach away his pain before making a break for the door.

He paused and turned backwards,"I'm serious about what I said. Give him hell, kid."

Stiles never thought he would smile at something Peter Hale said to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of shitty, but I wrote all of it today because I didn't like the one I'd already written. I might post an extra one to make up for it.


	9. Remedy For Being Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles: *ignore ignore ignore* *but kiss*  
> #everybodylovesisaac  
> (it's funnier if you say it like the 'everybody hates chris' tune)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this is kind of pathetic, but fall break is coming up so hopefully I can stockpile some chapters :P

Not even blank walls were safe anymore. He wasn't kidding when he said that _bitch_ Rosa couldn't do anything to him, but that's because it's already been done. Half truths were what kept him alive most of the time. So, staring at a blank wall wasn't triggering, exactly, but it made him anxious. Like he wanted to put a hole through it. He could tell he wasn't the only one feeling like that; although, for different reasons than him.

The full moon was days away and he was being insufferable. Stiles couldn't help it and the wolves knew that, but it was still obviously a task for the younger bitten ones, namely Erica. Whenever she flashed her eyes at him in irritation, he'd instinctively get defensive and huffy with her. She probably didn't even know she was doing it for submission from him. Needless to say, their study sessions became a bit strained. _Boyd_ , on the other hand, was awesome. Stiles listened to him talk more in their study sessions than he'd even _heard_ him talk in _weeks_ of their normal interactions. Erica was insanely lucky and Stiles could not be more jealous of them. Consequently, he started to hang around Isaac more, who apparently also needed school help. With him occasionally joining in on their sessions, it was bearable to be around the tooth rotting affection of the pair of betas.

One day he woke up with his teeth aching so bad, like he'd just bit into a popsicle, that he thought he was going to lose it. He almost busted into the bathroom and broke Erica's phone when she started playing music for her shower- he was _that_ irritated. He was serving some major bitch face the rest of the day and talked the least he could. Everyone was tip-toeing around him again and it _pissed him off._ Erica was being oddly annoying and popped off one 'joke' after the other, and when Stiles finally snapped it was way over dramatic.

They'd just finished another after school session and Stiles was watching them all put their papers away. Isaac went to his room to put his stuff up and right as he closed the door, Stiles spotted the corner of Erica's mouth tick up slightly. A resounding **slap** bounded through the room. She smiled faux innocently with her closed textbook in her hand. He locks eyes with her, the entire time, as he slowly pulls his hands away from his aching ears. Pure aggression flooded his mind as he stands up with a low growl. His eyes are hot as he leans in and flashes his teeth in a clear threat. Isaac rushes out of his room while Stiles refuses to look away and continues to stare Erica down. She fumbles with her book, and her eyes have gone big and surprised. A gentle hand is pressed to his chest and begins pushing him back from leaning over the table. When he's finally standing upright, he takes his eyes away from Erica and directs them at Isaac. His hand is still resting in the middle of his chest and he just.. _looks_ at it for a second. It's not an act of aggression or playfulness.

It's careful and counseling.

A blossom of warmth bloomed in a part of his chest he wasn't aware had been neglected. He dove at Isaac and wrapped around all of him that he could reach. He buckled under the unexpected weight and they fell to the floor. Erica bit her hand to keep from making any sound as Stiles tucked Isaac's head under his chin and huffed into his hair. Boyd's booming laugh reverberated in the room. The chairs creak and groan under the weight of two teenagers that have now fallen together in a fit of giggles. The wooden floor is kind of gross just to lay on, so Stiles moves them to the couch and makes Isaac lay his head in his lap. The pup is faintly scared so he does what's implied and tries to hide the flush on his face from Boyd and Erica.

They stay there for a while until Isaac's stomach rumbles because _guess who was supposed to make dinner_. Isaac is gently man-handled into being swathed in blankets and propped up on pillows. There's a weird moment where Stiles sets his palm on his forehead and pushes lightly before huffing at him and walking away. Derek comes through the door moments later and pauses as he sees his pup bundled in blankets with the darkest blush he's ever seen on him. He's got a slightly confused-shy-happy-little smile on his face and then scowls at Derek when he's found looking. The scowl is soon directed to the teenagers at the table on the other side of the room. The alpha gives them an unimpressed once over; their slouched positions and hands clutching their stomachs give away what he'd missed. He tosses his messenger bag by the couch and tries to repress his smile but he's itching to know how this happened. He hears Stiles banging around in the kitchen and, reluctantly, decides to pop in there first.

He's tried to tell Stiles the truth multiple times in the past week since he'd recovered, but he'd get stonewalled with irritated eyes and a stern attitude. Not to mention that Stiles would unexpectedly slip into his were at random times. It was usually a subtle transition but happened more frequently as the moon waxed. It was normal for fledglings, but he felt guilty every time it happened because Stiles' animal could tell they were mates and acted on it. Peter, ever the wiser, claims it's only growing pains and he'll learn to control it. Whatever it is, it's making the other adolescents wary of their transitioning pack-mate. He doesn't really understand, but he has to admit he's a little biased. As usual, this is all on his mind as he sees Stiles again.

He's very focused and moves with perfect purpose around the kitchen, like second nature. It's weird to see Stiles so intent and quiet without any of his focusing quirks that he'd become used to. His limbs almost always had a faint, jerky awkwardness to them before the bite, but Derek blames it on the hypervigilant state that he forced himself into all the time; Because of the bite, his body could better handle the amount of inputs Stiles tried to force on his human body. It still wasn't healthy for a _new_ were, but Stiles was an indubitably special case. Like he can tell he's being thought about, he looks up. Their eyes lock for a second and Stiles hesitates before resuming his assembly of sandwiches. Derek is enlightened to see him being at least _a little_ more coherent when he has these episodes. No more dead animals at least.

Stiles came treading out of the kitchen while balancing three plates on one arm. Erica whistled in admiration as none of the plates wobbled- despite how swift he was. Stiles set down a plate in front of Boyd and then _snapped_ his jaws at Erica as she reached for it. She looked properly scolded as he fondly brushed his fingertips over Boyd's neck. Derek leaned back cautiously as he approached and set the plate in his lap. A kiss to the cheek and a nip to the jaw later, and he was ready to pounce on Isaac with motherly affection. The adorable curly haired pup watched with anxious eyes as Stiles sat down right beside him. Stiles helped him dig out his arms from the covers and watched expectantly as Isaac took his food. His eyes flicked around the room as he took his first bite- before promptly choking and spitting it out.

Isaac started coughing, and Stiles frantically started to pat him on the back. Derek raced across the room when he saw Stiles trying to shove his hand into Isaac's mouth. He whined and scratched pitifully as Isaac recovered, looking nauseated. Derek's eyebrows did that weird flick that happens when he's worried but doesn't want to say anything. He shakes his head frantically, going slightly green, before slapping a hand to his mouth and running to the nearest bathroom.

"My Isaac?"

All heads snap to Stiles' scrunched up face. His beta shift is smoothing out as he leans back into Derek's arms. The alpha jumps- realizing he had yet to let go- and pushes Stiles away from him. The orange in his eyes dies as they both get caught in a stare. Stiles growls before stalking off to help Isaac hold his curls back. A grudging "sorry" is spat behind him.

" _That's disgusting_." Distaste is practically dripping from her tone. Boyd is trying to be impassive but the downturn of his mouth is highly expressive for him. Derek walks over to see what's wrong and there's a kind of hysterical laugh that tries to break out of his chest in a hearty bravado at the picture. Under the piece of white bread there's an animal heart. He has absolutely _no idea_ where Stiles learned about _werewolf home remedies_ , but the looks on his other betas faces were priceless. A sense of nostalgia hit him when he remembered about how he himself found out. A normal day of snooping through his family library had him stumbling across weird stuff all the time; however, he didn't expect for a boring, normal looking book like Remedies to even hold a candle to some of the tamer books present. _He was wrong_. That thing was fucking _creepy_. Eventually, he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and had lost most of the day to reading the strange book. He came out of the library looking half-crazed and hysterical. Laura was always the first person he told when it came to cool stuff he found there because she seemed to take genuine interest. But he'd never seen her look so disgusted in his life at the rabbit heart remedy. He was banned from her room for a week.

He was snapped back to the present with expectant looks from Boyd and Erica. A wry grin pasted itself to his face. He takes back what he said about the dead animals.

"No fevers, anyone?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want some actual story progression to slap me across the face soon.


	10. Lunatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat's out of the bag. Or should I say fox?

_Tonight was it. The full moon._

He'd never been fussed over so much in his life; however, he was slightly offended that they never made near as much of a commotion when he was in the _hospital_ time and time again. Sounds had lessened with their grating effects and he didn't have to force himself to breathe as shallowly anymore. The itch under his skin was the only thing that didn't cease to leave him. It made him want to move all the time; he couldn't get comfortable despite any position he tried to rest in. One thing that didn't help was Derek's constant presence. Peter had figured out the "game" Stiles was apparently playing and encouraged it heartily.

Peter had sat down with him in the living room when everyone had left for another pack playdate outside- that he'd declined to go to for his own health. It was.. weird, to say the least. He didn't feel the urge to attack him or any violence at all. Peter just talked to him about mates and the intricacies of it. Stiles was reminded that Peter Hale had a family before this. He had a big family where he was a brother, husband, father, and an uncle; he wasn't a creepy necrophilic beta his whole life. It was surprising how easy it was to reinforce a pack bond without realizing it.

Werewolves apparently didn't mate for life. Stiles doesn't know why this little tidbit of information shocked him, but it did. Humans get married and also get divorced so why would it be different for wolves? The word _mate_ just gives off a stronger vibe than _marriage._ He used Boyd and Erica as an example a lot. They weren't _made for each other_ exactly, but because they worked so well together, they would make a good mated pair. Stiles didn't like to talk about his friends romantically so he would steer the conversation away from them as quick as possible when it came to. But the entire talk calmed down the thoughts that had been plaguing him for a while. He didn't like not having a choice- resented it even. Being given options was always a relief; it meant control.

The itching turned into humming, and he was.. _excited_. Adrenaline was pumping through him for no apparent reason, and he realized why most supernatural activity took place around the height of the lunar cycle. He was _zazzed_ with energy and bouncing off the walls- one of them being Derek. He felt like a kid again with the urge to play nagging at him all day. It was embarrassing for him at first, but after a prompt _fuck it_ , he decided to do whatever he wanted. Not even a month ago would he have wondered about being a piece in the puzzle of his pack. He was so sure that nothing he could ever do would make up for his faults and him just existing. Guilt weighed him down regularly, but it was getting easier to let it go and not shackle him as much.

Which was why it was easy to bully Derek into doing everything with him for the majority of the day. It kind of felt like it was his birthday with all the attention on him. Almost the entire pack had shown up to hang out: Erica, Boyd, Scott, Isaac, Lydia, his dad, Melissa, and even Deaton. Peter absconded when things got too crowded, and Stiles quietly complained until he heard Peter snap at him that he'd be back later. His brief hurt was almost immediately forgotten as something else caught his attention. Derek and Isaac made food while Stiles lead a couple rounds of games. After proving that she could dominate anyone in any game Stiles chose, Lydia was banned from playing and became the designated spectator/referee. The smell and sound of sizzling beef patties was buzzing pleasantly in the back of his head while he tried not to knock down the tower of Jenga blocks. An obnoxious sneeze from beside him startles him enough for his hand to move a fraction too far and knock over the whole thing- resulting in mass groans. Stiles directs a glare at a ruffled looking Boyd whose face is the epitome of betrayal. The scent of snickerdoodles is lingering around Erica suddenly and surprisingly Scott notices first.

He jumps off the couch and onto his feet,"You cheated!"

Lydia has a small smirk on her face as she takes bills out of people's hands. He and Scott are both similarly slack-jawed but for different reasons.

"Did you bet that I'd lose?"

She smiles, large and happy,"No."

It's one of her 'I'm pleased with myself' smiles, and he's never gotten over the chill it gives him. Scott's getting confused on where to direct his attention, so it's a miracle when Isaac pokes his head out of the kitchen to tell them the food's done.

Or werewolf hearing. Whatever.

Obviously, Stiles beats everyone there and gets first pick of the _feast_ that's been prepared. Derek and Isaac are a sight for sore eyes: rumpled, a bit tired looking, aprons askew, food smudged on various parts of them. They lean on the counter, side by side, and finally relax. If it was acceptable for Stiles to jump Derek in this moment, he totally would. But, of course, he's put them in this little box with walls because he was mad.

_Is._

He _is_ mad, dammit.

...Dammit.

* * *

  
Why in the world is he alone in a room with Derek Hale. Stupid question; The universe hates him. Okay, okay, okay. Yeah, bones are starting to ache and he's hot all over. So what? Ladies go through the same thing when they get older, right? Lydia would go through this. Allison would..

He chokes and makes a sound that goes from a whine to a pained groan. Derek's kneeling beside him instantly, like he was focusing on only him the entire time. Totally not weird. At all. It's not like they haven't said anything for like half an hour. _Good god_ , Stiles hasn't said anything in over thirty minutes. So it's not that unexpected for the first thing out of his mouth to be atrociously embarrassing and sad.

"Allison's never gonna' get to go through menopause."

His chains rattle as he pushes against them and looks pleadingly at Derek who seems like he's battling the urge to laugh and/or comfort. It gets sadder and more embarrassing the more he thinks about it, and then he's jerking his head harshly to the side to snap himself out of it. The chains don't help. He hates them.

He can feel his eyes bouncing back and forth in color when he says,"Make it stop."

They're on each other in less than a second. Pulling at each other's lips hungrily, synced growls shoot vibrations through their mouths. The chains dig into Stiles' skin like ice as he continues to push against them. Derek looks locked in place with restraint while Stiles is _writhing_ with want just inches away. The smell of arousal clogs and fills his airways in the most delectable way he's ever experienced. His tongue prods against Derek's teeth to be let in, only to be denied by him retreating. A conflicting mix of a snarl and a whine rip from throat.

"Stiles.." He's breathless,"You don't- We can't do this now."

An actual bark comes out of him at that. After a second of frowning at himself, he's ready to kill.

"Oh cut it _out_ , Der. Why do you think I've been so pissy with you lately?" He watches as Derek shifts uncomfortably under his stern gaze.

"I _know_ , okay? I know that we're compatible mates, you fucking dickwad."

He hates how he loves almost every expression that goes across Derek's face.

"How?" He's gone quiet, but he flicks his eyes across the room.

Uncontrollable anger is suddenly very present in this conversation," **No thanks to you**."

Blood's dripping down his chin from how carelessly he's speaking around his teeth. The alpha recoils as if struck, and Stiles has the urge to pounce on him. The chains feel tighter around him; he feels them pull on his skin even as he's still.

No.

It _is_ his skin. It's tight and moving. He feels sick just watching it, and then he's thrashing even harder against his restraints. Tingling pain is radiating from every patch of skin rubbing against something. Sparks are running across his vision, and it _fucking hurts_. There's a moment of something ugly going through his body, and he blinks open his eyes. Awareness comes to him like last night's memories. It's slow.

Everything looks weird and too big to be normal. He tries to stand and- falls back down.

Paws. He has paws.

They're small and black with long sharp nails. There's a sour feeling in his gut that pushes him to stand. He makes it, and he sees he's not alone. Derek and Peter are watching him totter with carefully blank faces. He knows that's a Hale thing to do in sensitive situations. He hates it.

It reinforces the feeling that's crawling around in his stomach as he watches them. He makes a mad dash for the stairs. It's not easy; he trips and leans too far sometimes but he makes it all the way up and then the bolted door is blown off it's hinges with barely a thought. There's no time to think as he races to the living room. Most of the people are still here: Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Lydia, and Scott. Kira doesn't cross his mind a lot, but seeing Scott looking so lonely makes him wish she didn't have to leave so much. Every eye in the room is on him as he pit-pats his way to the window. He keeps his eyes down until he's right in front of the pane.

Blood orange eyes stare back at his furry face. He wants to scream. The window shatters, and he's scaling dangerously down the building before anyone could say anything.

* * *

 

Also I made this fic a tumblr for visual purposes: [<3](https://everythingsgoodman.tumblr.com/) it's shabby but serves a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a bit of fun writing this chapter so yay


	11. Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally put some werejaguar action in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very happy with this chapter, and I'm sorry it's a few days late!

Everything is sensitive in the cool air of the night. The pads of his feet hit the wet ground hard and fast. The wolves are bigger than he is, but how fast he's going is nothing to scoff at. His muscles burn from their first proper use, but Stiles tries not to focus on that. The steady passing of trees going by him is what urges him on. He doesn't know where he's going, but it's better than here. It has to be. The feeling of Derek pulling away from him tears at his control like sandpaper on tissue, but he can't stop running. He's a walking joke for the universe to have a good row over, and he _wonders if it'll ever stop._ Shame washes cold across his chest no matter what excuses he tries to revive from his friends. _Friends._ They won't be that anymore. How are they supposed to move forward if Stiles keeps dragging them back into the past?

_Maybe_ , he thinks, _the blackness of my coat means more than just a color? Maybe the Nogits-_

Quick like a striking snake, a fallen branch rolls out from under his foot as soon as his weight's on it. He trips in a sudden flailing of awkward limbs and somehow manages to conk his head on the side of a tree. A growl reaches his ears and he stills completely. It takes an embarrassing moment to realize it was him. He lays there, hurting too much to move, stewing in misplaced anger. His chest rises and falls quickly with harsh breaths that are bitten off by his own snarls. Later he'd realize that part of him was losing it, going feral. His wounds mend, but a ringing has settled in his ears. Leaves crunch less than a hundred feet away and startled a bark out of him. Back against the tree, he snarls fiercely. He's a frayed rope at this point, and no anchor will pull him down without breaking him. Clawed human feet enter his field of vision and stir something deep in his fight or flight instincts. His keen eyes pick up the dark pigment of skin and the gnarled curves of the unkempt night. His hazy mind is then confused by the drop in aggression he feels in himself. Or maybe it's the way that he feels connected to the person approaching him. The scent wafting through the air is female, no doubt, but still unfamiliar. Yet, he _knows_ this woman. Their eyes meet and for a second he feels threatened by the other's glow. She sits on the ground, at his level, and he stops the growl building in his throat. He was mistaken; her eyes are just breathtakingly light.

She's old. That much can be ascertained by her close-cropped gray hair. The grinding and creaking of the woman's bones was hard for him to listen to as she sat down; she was very old, indeed. Her dark skin was dirty and marred with scars that made him question their origins. The lines of her face were harsh and gave her a haggard look, enhanced by the ragged shirt and jeans she wore. Her wrinkled mouth pursed as she looked him over. She reaches out with a jagged nail and wisps of purple seem to materialize out of nowhere and wind their way towards him.

He scampered away in a panic but was already sagging back against the ground before he could make it more than five feet away.

_You're better than this, Pitiful One._

* * *

  
Everything is spinning. He's falling. It's nice and feels like there's clouds all around him- guiding him back to the ground. He turns over and-

Yeah, no, that's the actual ground. Tile to be exact.

" _Fuck_." He groans.

All at once, he's painfully aware of his lack of clothes. A wooly blanket, that's scratchy against his skin, is settled dangerously low on his hips from the fall. The throbbing pain is gone almost as quick as it came and he's not sure he'll ever get used to that. The lights in the room are low and easy on his eyes; The smell of animals is overwhelming for a second before he reigns himself in and focuses. There are so many heart-beats in this place that he could drown in them. There's one that keeps pulling him in, and he has a creeping feeling who it belongs to. A crippling weight settles on his chest, and he let's out a staggered breath.

Everything was _fine_. He was _happy_ , for Christ's sake. And now it's over and being ripped away from him- **again**. His face feels hot, and it's probably an ugly, blotchy red mess. His eyes burn and prick with tears. He can feel it building inside of him like never before. And he's tired. A bone deep sadness has washed over him, and there's nothing to stop it anymore. The wave that he's been riding through is closing around him without mercy. As the waters swallow him, he's too powerless to resist anymore.

* * *

  
When Stiles was eleven years old, his entire world fell apart.

Family death- and death in general- was hard. All throughout his life he's been told how important family is and that they're the backbone of your entire life. They weren't animals that could survive by being pushed from the nest like birds. It wasn't sink or swim. Unsurprisingly, things don't always work out the way you want them to. So at age eleven, Stiles Stilinski loses his backbone and succumbs to the wild.

John Stilinski used to be a stress drinker. 'Used' is the key word here. That fact wasn't known to him until he reached the biggest hurdle of his life. Losing his spouse. Claudia and Stiles were the lights of his life, but when half of your world goes dark, you get lost. He's ashamed of his past self and sorry for his son- the boy he couldn't be there for even when he needed someone just as much as John did. While he found solace in a bottle of Jack, Stiles had Scott. Melissa McCall didn't say anything about his son being over there nearly everyday after school. Somehow that made it feel worse. It took having Stiles crying his heart out in his arms for him to get a grip on himself. He slipped a lot on the way of recovery, but he had Stiles to anchor himself to. They weren't that different from the resident werewolves in that respect.

Learning that the boy he's turned his life around again and again for is continually putting his neck on the line makes him want to scream. For the first time in his life he thought he might not be enough to protect his little boy. So he entrusted some of that responsibility to the "pack". Or more specifically, Derek Hale and Scott McCall. Never again would he make that mistake.

* * *

  
For the first time, Peter looked distressed. He paced back and forth across the entire length of the loft. He might've been called out on it in any other circumstance.

Isaac cleared his throat,"He's a..fox?"  
  
Nobody would make eye-contact with him and shifted under his furtive glances, mildly uncomfortable. Everyone had heard what transpired between Derek and Stiles while he was locked up. Lydia and Erica were practically fuming on Stiles' behalf. Derek received the cold shoulder from almost everybody, Peter being the exception. He'd ignored everyone so far, in favor of stewing in his own mind. However, Isaac's question made him perk up.

"He's always been a fox." He replied dourly.

Isaac looked a bit caught by the answer to his question,"What?"

Peter heaved a very put-upon sigh,"Honestly, do you not know your friend and packmate at all?"

He floundered for an answer, but Lydia cut in with a gleam in her eye,"That's right. Stiles has always been intelligent and quick thinking." She took a quick breath and said somberly but sternly,"It's not far fetched to think that the Nogitsune _doesn't_ have anything to do with his form." She glances around the room, daring someone to go against her and then deflates. "But neither is the alternative. To him at least. _When_ we get him back, we have to remind him that being a fox isn't about the Nogitsune... Stiles isn't quick to trust people, and he's sneaky in order to help people. He's always got a trick up his sleeve. Foxes aren't always bad."

She shrinks into herself after that, thinking. A ringing pierces through the anxiety filled air. Peter pounces on the land-line before the second ring can even start. Everyone listens in on the call unabashedly. Peter hangs up, and the pack is piling through the door to get out. Lydia follows and irritably waits to be filled in.

The ride to Deaton's clinic is hazardous and would make Stiles' dad keel over with how many traffic violations were committed. Before long, Deaton's clinic came into view and everyone was piling out of their respective vehicles. The owner himself stood outside in front of the doors, arms crossed but with a subtle excitement. He barricaded the way and refused to let anyone pass. An uproar ensued with startling aggression. Derek was second away from becoming physical when the door behind the vet opened.

The werejaguar pushed open the door with its head and bumped Deaton aside. The pack is speechless, and she takes that moment to dart out of reach, around the building, and escape. After a moment of stunned silence, Scott starts yelling. That spurs the others to contribute their own thoughts. Peter slinks away without getting a second glance and follows the run-down jaguar's path. The remaining of the group's ire turns from being directed at the vet to at themselves. It's a lot of bickering that isn't helped by the bald man's refusal to step aside. Emotion clouds all of their judgements won't allow any reasonable argument to get in the way.

Boyd, who'd been brooding to himself (no doubt something he picked up from Derek), hisses loud and fierce into the foray of bullshit.

He growls," _Listen_."

The jaws of everyone click shut, and they dazedly obey. There's a look of intense concentration on everyone's face but Lydia- who just looks put out.

"Is that.." Scott starts.

Derek croaks," _Stiles_.."

Isaac looks heartbroken as he mutters,"Crying?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got another fic that I update sometimes called Ghostly Vapor, so feel free to check that out if you want. I'm getting really unsatisfied with this fic; I'm sorry if that reflects in my writing. Comments are encouraged from new or old readers at anytime <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are cool. Suggestions are cool. Nagging is cool. Subscribing is cool. ~Rolly


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